His hand stills.
His conversation stops mid-sentence.
The other man follows his gaze to me, but the Boss makes a subtle gesture, and the man immediately looks away.
Everyone looks away.
Everyone except him.
And me.
He says something to the man, who scrambles away like he's been dismissed from an audience with a king.
The woman at his feet starts to move, but he holds her in place with the hand in her hair, never breaking eye contact with me.
I should look away.
Every instinct screams that this is a predator, that I'm prey, that I should run.
But I don't.
I take a step toward him instead.
His lips curve in what might be a smile.
Or a threat.
He releases the woman with a word I can't hear.
She crawls away, and now there's nothing between us but space that feels electric.
He doesn't gesture for me to come closer.
He doesn't need to.
I'm already moving.
The crowd parts without seeming to, creating a path between us.
I can feel their attention, their curiosity.
Who is this girl walking toward him like she has a death wish?
I stop, just out of reach.
Close enough to see that his eyes have flecks of darker gray, like storm clouds.
Close enough to smell expensive cologne and something underneath it—danger, violence, power.
"You don't belong here." His voice is like aged whiskey, smooth but with a burn.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true." He tilts his head, studying me. "Heaven is upstairs. Pretty girls play pretty games up there. Down here, little lamb, we play for keeps."
Little lamb.Like I'm helpless. Like I'm innocent.
"I belong in the dark," I say, the words coming from somewhere deep inside me. "I've been living in it for eight years. The only difference is that down here, everyone admits it."
